


channeling angels

by shizuoh



Series: stucky things [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), au where steve never shaved the beard, the painting on someone's back thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuoh/pseuds/shizuoh
Summary: With each brushstroke, it was like discovering a whole new part of Bucky's body. He definitely had plenty of chances to get to know it before, but he had painted blue over a scar he had never noticed before. Painted black over a mole he had forgotten was there.(or: some post-endgame back painting)





	channeling angels

**Author's Note:**

> some fluff to get us through these trying times

He's always been an early riser.

Whenever the sun was up so was he, whereas Bucky was always groaning into the sheets and whining —  _five more minutes, Stevie, c'mon_  — so Steve would have to jump on top of him, all ninety pounds, and tickle every part of his exposed body until he was squirming wheezing and tears were springing from his eyes. Then they'd lay there, for maybe a little longer than five minutes, because Bucky was a jerk and Steve could barely ever deny him anything — especially not when he gave him the stupid grin that made Steve want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

Flash forward a hundred years later and then some, and he's still an early riser. Bucky will still complain but neither of them sleep that well anymore, especially not after the past five years. It's been a month or so and Steve's nightmares are still filled with gunshots and ice and dust and the sound of a single snap. 

It's early, now, as the sun starts to rise in Wakanda. It gives just the right amount of lighting for Steve to put the finishing touches on one of the skylights of the skyscraper he's painting. Bucky twists his head to the other side to keep the light from shining in his eyes, and said movement jostles the bed a little.

"Hey, easy."

"The light was in my eyes."

"I'm almost done. Just hold still."

He can't see the way Bucky rolls his eyes but he knows it happens. Just because he's an asshole, Bucky wiggles around a bit more, then settles back into the bed. He's on his stomach, his chin propped up on his arms in front of him. Steve sits behind him on his legs, practically pinning him down with his weight, a paintbrush in one hand and his palette in the other. When he dips the paintbrush into the black and starts to outline more skyscrapers, Bucky flinches.

"Sorry," Steve says, leaning forward to gently kiss the back of Bucky's neck. He's careful not to smudge the paint when he moves. Bucky mumbles something into the pillow in reply, but Steve can see the pink on the back of his ears. He's always loved the little affections.

He's painting a scene from their old days in Brooklyn, when they'd sit outside their apartment and count the stars in the sky. He had put on the layers of the night sky first, a gradient of blue to black. With each brushstroke, it was like discovering a whole new part of Bucky's body. He definitely had plenty of chances to get to know it before, but he had painted blue over a scar he had never noticed before. Painted black over a mole he had forgotten was there. 

It takes quite some time to get all the outlines of the skyscrapers finished up. Then, he works to filling them in with black. Bucky is surprisingly still through the duration of it. He breathes steadily, almost like he's fallen asleep, except Steve knows it takes a lot more than brushstrokes on his back to get him to sleep. 

(It takes several different kinds of pills, a white noise machine, a specific kind of lighting, locked doors, and a cuddle session with Steve. Even then, sleep is rare.)

"You still with me, Buck?" he asks, pausing for a moment to rub his palms over Bucky's shoulder.

"Mm-hmm . . . " he mumbles into his arms. "Just feels good. Calming."

He tries not to smile like an idiot. He probably fails. "Good. That's good. I'm glad." 

With that, he goes back to filling in the buildings. His mind keeps flashing back to when they were kids, young and dumb and without the knowledge of two lifetimes. However, he looks at the Bucky underneath him now — the way his metal arm breathes with him, the way his hair spills over his face and shoulders, the way his muscles clench when he shifts — and he knows that he wouldn't trade this lifetime for the world. After so many years, he has him back. He's determined to keep him this time.

He finishes filling in the skyscrapers, maybe a little too aggressively.

"Hey, careful there, big guy."

Steve snorts. "Sorry. Got distracted."

Bucky lets out a laugh, and Steve takes away the brush for a moment before he can smudge the paint. "Hardly even sunrise 'nd you're already distracted by me without a shirt on?" he teases, and then his voice gets a little more serious. "What were you thinkin' of?"

"You," he admits, because it's true, and he always is. "Us, really. Before the war."

Bucky turns his head to glance behind his shoulder, right at him. "Oh yeah?"

"When we'd sit outside and look at all the stars, whenever it was warm enough outside so I wouldn't get a cold. We'd sit out there for so long, 'til my ma came out barkin' at us to get back inside." He looks at Bucky, hopeful, trying to kick  _something_  up.

Luckily, there's a flash of recognition in his eyes. Even with all of Hydra's programming gone, some memories are still trapped underneath the ice. "Yeah. I remember. You always had a hard time pronouncing the constellations."

"I still knew 'em all."

"Say  _Camelopardalis._ "

Steve glares at him. Bucky bites at his lip to keep from laughing too hard. His body shakes with it.

"Put your head back down. I'm finishing this up."

"Ooh, feelin' bossy today? I like it."

"Shut up, Barnes." Even so, he's smiling, grinning like he's a teenager again and he's fallen in love for the first time. 

All that's left to finish is the stars in the sky. He leans forward and blows a little on the paint, just for show, reveling in the shudder Bucky gives. He cleans off his brush in the water by the bedside table and dips it into the white. He stipples small dots all over the painted sky, turning some into twinkles, and making five or six bigger than the others. The painting comes all too natural to him, even if he hasn't dabbled in actual painting in a long time. Ever since his retirement, he's gathered a collection of sketchbooks — sometimes his old ones, sometimes new ones his friends gift to him. Most of them have sketches, but there are a handful that have actual paint in them. This project, however, spread all over his lover's skin, is the first actual  _painting_  he's done since the forties.

(The intimacy of it all makes him blush.  _C'mon,_  Rogers, you're over one hundred by now.)

When he thinks he's finished, he leans back, tilts his head to the left and right a few times, then adds a few more stars. He scrutinizes each little detail, and decides to add the finishing touch: a twinkling star in the upper left corner, bigger and brighter than all the rest. Then, he's  _sure_  he's finished, and takes out his phone so he can take a picture.

"Make sure you get my good side," Bucky pipes up.

Steve has never been very photo-savvy, so he takes a few just to make sure there will be at least one that's not blurry. He scrolls through each one and picks out the one that's the most clear, and rolls off of Bucky's body, sliding up beside him. He taps the back of his head to signal him to move his head up, and holds up the picture in front of his face when he looks up.

"What'd you think?" he asks.

Bucky stares for a moment, and then slowly takes the phone for himself in his hand. "It's good," he says quietly. "It's really good," he then says, louder, moving to look Steve in the eyes. "I remember your paintings back in our old apartment."

"Do you now?"

"Yeah. You'd sell them for commissions . . . " Bucky then furrows his brows at the painting.

Steve blanches. "What? Did I mess something up?"

"No," Bucky says quickly. His voice sounds choked up. "I don't know." He hands the phone back to Steve and lifts his hand to wipe at his eyes. "I just think you should paint more often. Maybe on an  _actual_  canvas, next time."

Steve lets the phone fall onto the mattress and cups his lover's face with both hands, thumbing at his cheekbones. "What, you don't wanna stay in my bed all day?"

Bucky laughs, then sniffles. Steve isn't sure why he's crying, and he figures Bucky isn't sure either, but it doesn't matter. He leans to kiss the stray tears that fall, ignoring the salty taste. Bucky rolls his eyes and pretends like he doesn't like all the attention (and the beard burn), but he leans into Steve's touch, making a small humming sound that's almost similar to the way a cat purrs. His metal arm whirs. Steve can't resist, so he leans into kiss him, sweet and firm and soft all at the same time. Bucky is and has always been a delight to kiss. He responds immediately, his metal arm curling around the back of Steve's neck, pulling him closer. When he tries to roll onto his back, Steve grabs onto his hip and keeps him on his stomach, and Bucky giggles a  _Sorry_  against his lips. Steve just grins and leans further, but he knows that going any further is just going to result in messy sheets and a lot of ruined paint.

So he pulls away, and when he opens his eyes Bucky's looking at him like he hung the moon, face flushed and lips pink.

"Retirement looks good on you, Rogers."

 

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/18/8a/88/188a8857d2f505e48d8d1c489333786c.jpg) is kind of what i was going for with steve's painting
> 
> [tumblr](http://haikuyus.tumblr.com/)


End file.
